


For Want of a Horse

by galeaspida



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, First Meetings, Horses, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-11-02 02:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galeaspida/pseuds/galeaspida
Summary: Myka works at a Hunter/Jumper stable and has failed to meet her father's lofty expectations for her career. The arrival of the new boarder Helena causes Myka no end of confusion.





	For Want of a Horse

**Author's Note:**

> Fictionalistic wrote a wonderfully innovative AU Warehouse 13 called 'Barn 13' that I read a number of years ago. I've taken the same premise of Warehouse 13 meets riding stable AU and gone in a slightly different direction. This was written six years ago and never posted. Regarding Myka's family - what if the famed hunter stickler George Morris had two daughters?

It is a hot day in early June, and the buzzing of insects in the fields nearly drowns out the coarse static of shoddy reception from the radio brought up from the tack room. 

Pete's voice carries over from the other side of the barn, where he's sorting through last winter's bales, hunting for mold. 

"Mykes, you going to that show next weekend with Claudia?"

Myka pauses after slinging a hay bale onto the three-high stack and stretches upwards, her spine cracking audibly with the movement. The second-cut they're stacking smells sweetly of summer, but she's got prickly hay pieces everywhere, including inside her bra, and there's a narrow line of sweat forming down the middle of her back. 

Myka wants nothing more than to go soak herself under a shower, change clothes, and grab some of the bitter lemonade soda she likes so much out of the barn refrigerator. 

"No, my dad's got a load of horses coming and I'm going over to help."

She knows it shouldn't cause her so much aggravation; It's only a half day's drive away to her parents' stable in the next state, and Myka's out of excuses not to visit. She does want to see the horses beyond the photos her mother emailed her last week - all four gorgeous, scopey, and way, way beyond Myka's price range. The youngest are a pair of unbacked colts from an up-and-coming stud farm on the East Coast - sent for training under the Bering name to increase the sale price. The imported Holsteiner is for one of her father's boarders - already going strong under saddle. Her father has also bought a Hanovarian mare for her sister Tracy, who has finished up her business degree in New York and is planning on returning to showing in the coming year. 

It's this last thing that's been eating Myka up ever since she talked with Tracy on the phone last weekend. Myka has never been given a horse by her father. She's never had a horse of her own - she's been too busy training and exercising other people's horses, and could never justify the expense. It's made her a better rider, or at least she tells herself this, but she's never been able to bond with a particular mount because getting attached just means all the more pain when the horse is sold. And her father was dismissive about her prospects as a rider, favoring perfect, petite Tracy for the crown of the famous Bering Hunter 'legacy' and pushing Myka - too tall, too headstrong, never-can-keep-her-heels-down-enough-Myka - into the role of the barn manager and trainer, until she had fled away to university and then this job. 

Feeling angry, and guiltily aware that her irritation at her sister is unfairly misplaced, Myka changes the subject.

"How's Semper's foot?" She slings the next bale up to the third row, pushing it to fit neatly in line with the rest. "I didn't get a good look at him today." 

"Scabbed over. It's not bothering him much, and he's practically climbing over the stall door whenever I go see him, so I think he'll be okay to be let out tomorrow."

Semper Fi is Pete's sturdy cow pony. Quick, agile, and smart - he is able to take off any leg protection with his teeth given a little bit of time and somehow can pull off rubber bell boots, although nobody can explain how he is able to (they've never seen him do it). Pete's madly in love with the sorrel gelding, but Semper's terribly accident-prone and managed to clip his heel with his hind when he was in the paddock two days previously.

"At this rate Kelly will be able to retire at 35, Pete." 

The frequency of Semper's creative accidents means Pete's got the county vet's phone number memorized, and the vet has begun giving Pete a discount for all the work he sends her. Myka's counting on Pete and the vet admitting that their snarky jabs at one another is going to give way to a very passionate romance ending in a destination wedding sometime next year. (Claudia's placed a bet on August. Myka's leaning towards November. )

"Bering!"

Artie's bellow from outside makes them both look up. At 62 years of age - with three fused vertebrae and a lifetime of riding bouncy warmbloods (and occasionally bouncing off them)- Artie doesn't do stairs anymore, and thus has perfected the art of the commanding shout that can stop a rider at fifty paces and make even the most intractable horse pause mid-buck. 

Myka peels off her leather work gloves, dropping them on the nearest bale, and walks over to the opening of the hay barn, looking down at the open driveway below. 

Artie is frowning up at her. 

"Has Nate called back?" he barks out. His thick eyebrows have met in the middle of his face, forming one disapproving line. Myka likes to think of it as Artie's natural expression, Claudia calls it 'The Very Angry Caterpiller'. "He was supposed to be here an hour ago and I have three lesson horses that need shoes by tomorrow!?"

A line of dust marks the arrival of a vehicle on the stable drive, but it isn't Nate's beat up Chevy so Myka ignores it. 

"Not a word." Myka shrugs and rests one long arm on the barn wall, taking some of the weight off her feet. "I even called his house."

"Is there a curse on this barn that we can't find a farrier who will come when he says he will?" Artie kicks at a stray pebble on the ground and turns towards the fields. "Which god have I offended this month?"

The consistency of farriers not making appointments has been difficult to manage. In a pinch, Artie will shoe horses, but his back doesn't enjoy the activity and he's usually laid up for several days after (and ten times grumpier). Myka's not trained (understanding the specifics, but aware that her knowledge isn't quite enough to put into practice), and Pete's a barefoot devotee. It means last-minute alterations of lesson horses and upset riders at not being able to use their regular mounts. 

'Have you tried Jinks?' Pete has come up beside Myka, squinting into the sunlit yard before turning his ball cap back around. "He see should be back about now."

"I've already tried - his contract extended for two more months at the track. His mother said he won't be back to visit for another week, which is really inconvenient for those of us who..."

"My apologies for the interruption, but would you be Arthur Nielson by any chance?"

The accented voice cuts cleanly through Artie's rant and three sets of eyes turn towards the figure who has just walked in from the parking area. 

Myka's first thought is _Wow_.

A slim woman with dark hair caught back in a sleek ponytail is standing in the center of the drive. She's wearing a pair of tan breeches, expensive Italian tall boots, and looks astoundingly out of place in the dusty yard.  


Myka unconsciously wipes her hand across her sleeve to get rid of the numerous pieces of hay caught there and wonders whether it would ever be possible for her to look as put together as this woman. (No, her brain replies immediately - not even with the help of a team of highly trained and murderously motivated stylists).  


"Yes." Artie comes off as more terse than usual, and crosses his arms as he examines the woman head to toe. "I don't suppose you're an undercover farrier? It's impossible to find one who will show up when scheduled around here."  


"Well, it's a little impromptu, but I can cold shoe and do trims if you have the tools here."  


She receives looks of surprise in return. This mysterious woman is dressed to ride, but she is also immaculately clean, and looks like she wouldn't be able to carry a hay bale, let alone deal with a seasoned lesson horse that has a fondness for leaning on farriers and knows every trick in the book about ruining a shoe job.  


Sensing doubt, she continues on. "I can tell that the bay over there -" she nods towards Tesla, who is tethered to a ring outside the barn (he's fallen asleep, predictably), waiting for the farrier who hasn't shown up and probably won't, "-has had his heels trimmed too much. As it is now, he's likely not getting enough cushioning. Has he been tender in the ring?"  


Artie suddenly snaps his fingers.  


"It was you who e-mailed me last week about boarding here. Wells, wasn't it? From California? At Millbrook's stable?"  


"Yes, and I am looking for a place for my gelding." British Lady With A Very Proper Accent Last Name Wells (won't she introduce herself? Myka's dying of curiosity) inclines her head towards Artie. "I apologize for not alerting you, but I did want to see the barn when I wasn't expected."  


Artie shrugs.  


"You're welcome to look around, but if you want a list of things to watch out for, I'll give you the list now. The shoeing schedule is messed up because all the county farriers seem to be coming down with summer colds and plague and all manner of maladies. The hay this year is astronomically expensive - we've had to ship it in from out West - which means that boarding prices are going up by another fifty dollars a month..."  


This woman doesn't bat an eyelash at this news. Myka suspects, judging by her demeanor and clothing, that she may make more than that in an hour.  


(Her boots alone cost more than Myka makes in a month.)  


"...if you're after a strict schedule and private indoor arena time, you might be better off at the stables on the other side of town. They're decent enough, with good footing in their rings, I know the owner, but they've had issues with stable management recently and don't have a regular instructor."  


(This is kind - the previous manager was recently fired for selling horses as a broker and keeping the difference in his own pocket. Myka never liked MacPherson. He'd regarded horses as a business only, had been far too fond of draw reins, and all of his horses had false frames as a result, going hollow-backed as soon as anyone came towards them with a saddle.)  


"As I said in my email, we have lessons on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. There are about twenty boarders right now, and the staff also have horses they are training. The arena was graded last week, and we try to do it twice a month, provided the tractor is behaving. We don't host shows here anymore - everyone goes down to the next county for that now - so time is fairly open."  


He jerks his head up at the open hay loft. "Myka Bering - working here as an assistant trainer and barn manager. Pete's..."  


"...the hired help, Mam," Pete finishes, tipping his hat and grinning down at the woman in an all too familiar sort of way. Myka inwardly groans, because she knows what's bound to happen, and she needs to save Pete from himself because this woman is way, way beyond his reach, and doesn't look the sort to be fooled by boyish charm and a square jaw.  


" Helena Wells, formerly of California. Now, may I see the rest of the barn?"  


\---  


Myka volunteers to give the tour.  


"You wanted full board?" she asks as they walk down a line of paddocks towards the arena area. The horses ignore them, swishing their tails to drive away the insects as they graze. The weather's been hard on the pastures, but there's rain in the next week's forecast, and it should keep the fields happy.  


"Yes, my horse is..." Helena pauses, searching for the appropriate word and settling with "...somewhat of a handful. Arthur said that there was private turnout available."  


Myka nods, mentally fitting this mystery horse out in the old stallion field beside the geldings' paddock. There's decent grass, and the ground has drained well since the spring rains flooded the lower half. It's been the better part of a decade since Artie ran a breeding operation, and Magellan - his stallion and competition horse at two Olympic Games - died of old age several winters ago.  


"We have agreements with the farmers nearby to use the edge of their fields, and there are trails all through the woods behind the barn. There are some stretches where you can speed up - and there's an old cross-country course in there - Preliminary height - from Artie's eventing days, and it's fun to go out when..."  


Myka catches herself. She's rambling on, and she's not quite sure why, because she had the impression from Artie that Helena was a dressage rider, what with all the talk of arena time, even if she is wearing field boots rather than the stiffer dressage boots.  


Helena smiles at her, showing very white even teeth. "I do jump. Grappler is keen to move and he tends to be bolder than he should - cross-country keeps us focused. Are you an eventer?"  


"Yes." Myka catches hold of a tall piece of weed and snaps it off, making a mental note to go through this path with a shovel when sge has time. "My father and sister compete hunters on the East Coast circuit, so I was a bit of a black sheep. I didn't like going around an area all the time - I liked the adventure of galloping through the woods."  


"Ah, I thought I recognized your last name." She clicks her tongue. "No relation to a certain Warren Bering, perchance?"  


Myka frowns. "I'm his daughter. You know him?"  


"I watched a clinic of his when I first moved to California. The barn I was boarding Grappler at arranged it and I happened to be free that day. He is an excellent rider, but excessively critical of his students when a mere reminder would suffice."  


" I don't suppose any of the riders had shown up with jeweled browbands? It sends him into fits about tradition and respectability."  


"He did tear a strip off a rider who hadn't polished her horse's hooves that morning."  


"Ah, my entire childhood summarized."  


They exchange grins and Myka feels something click inside of her heart.  


\----  


Before she leaves, and Myka's still not quite sure how it happened, Helena insists on trimming Tesla's feet.  


"I don't suppose you know how to fix engines too?" Myka asks with a smile as she watches Helena work away at the near forefoot with a rasp. The other afternoon task is helping Pete fix the tractor's engine because Claudia - genius 19-yr-old and resident machine-whisperer - is away visiting her brother at MIT and of course the tractor would choose that time to stop working.  


"What kind?" Helena is looking thoughtful. "I'm fairly handy with truck and tractor engines, but I've never touched a modern car."  


Myka laughs out loud, and Tesla twitches his ears, swiveling one around in her direction.  


"I will not let you near that engine while you're wearing those clothes," she warns, looking pointedly at Helena's spotless breeches.  


"Nude engine repair, then?" Helena laughs. "Well, I can't say that it is the strangest thing I've ever done, but I'm willing to give it a try. Will there be an audience?"  


Tesla begins to lean on Helena's back, testing her. Helena is having none of this however, and growls, nudging his belly firmly with her elbow. The horse obediently stands still again, and doesn't make another move until she's done.  


"Peter, I suppose, would be the most enthusiastic about it,' Helena continues. "I trust he will not be a problem?"  


Myka is a little distracted: she can't help but notice the shape of the other woman's rear as she bends over.  


"Pete's harmless." She frowns, adding. "Incredibly dumb at times when it comes to women, but harmless."  


"Glad to hear it." Helena straightens, and inspects her handiwork with a critical eye. "There, that looks much better."  


Tesla's hoof does look more balanced. Myka's wondering who this Helena Wells is, who can shoe horses and apparently fix tractor engines and looks as if she just walked off a film set because nobody looks that clean at a stable.  


"I'm still not quite convinced that you're not a British spy," she drawls, as Helena examines Tesla's feet from a crouched position.  


Helena laughs. It's a bright, pleasant sound.  


"Just a woman with diverse interests."  


"A Grand Prix rider too?" Myka says, eyebrows raised.  


"I don't show." Helena smiles as she hooks Tesla's leg up to trim it, but this time there's a hint of coolness to the expression. "Purely pleasure."  


For the first time since Helena Wells arrived at the barn, Myka doesn't quite believe her.  


\---  
Helena's horse arrives several days later from the coast with a shipping company. Grappler is a well-put together, steel-gray gelding with good bone and a pronounced Roman nose.  


Helena shrugs when Myka asks about his breeding.  


"American bred. I think that he has some draft in him from that feathering, but it may be old-style warmblood. I found him in a terrible state three years ago in a field while I was driving by, and bought him off the owners, who were glad to be rid of a six-year-old who'd never seen a saddle. I couldn't find a farrier who would put up with him, so I taught myself how to shoe."  


Grappler pins his ears back and rolls his eyes when Myka removes his shipping boots.  


"He's mostly bluffing," Helena warns. "I got a hoof in the thigh when I first started him for not being alert enough - the unaffectionate bastard."  


Grappler is sweet as pie when Helena takes the lead and walks him to his new field.  


\--  


It's 7:00 in the morning, and Myka's taking horses out to the paddock fields in twos. She's walking back to the barn, halters and leads over her shoulder, when she almost collides with Helena, who's walking out of the barn, Trailer following her obediently.  


"Whoa, sorry. I didn't see you."  


"Myka. Good morning."  


If anything, Myka's even more disheveled than she was when they met the first time. Her hair is very curly - the morning rain ruined her attempt to tame it by combing it in the shower last night - and her t-shirt is inside out (a product of getting dressed in the dark).  


She stops by a little over an hour later, and she notices Helena trotting in the barn-side arena.  


Her jaw drops.  


Helena has definitely shown, and not just circuit shows; internationally - there's no doubt about it - because she is _perfect_. Grappler's powerful strides eat up the ground, the contained energy channeled by imperceptible aids and supple contact into impulsion that Myka can only dream of achieving.  


Myka watches in blissful admiration for several minutes before the twenty-odd chores yet to be done force her away. She looks over her shoulder twice as she leaves and narrowly misses walking into a wheelbarrow.  


This is going to be a problem. And she had thought that she had overcome this particular romantic obstacle after all those years with Sam.  


\-----  


Claudia returns from her vacation and it takes all of an hour before Myka's fallen to a distant second place on the list of Claudia's Favorite People at the Barn.  


Helena's hand grazing Grappler in the small yard next to the pond, and Claudia is talking animatedly about diesel engines with her. Helena, who works in some unknown capacity at the engineering facility in town, is the only one Myka's ever seen who can keep up to Claudia's brain.  


She tries not to feel too jealous.  


"Claudia!" Artie bellows from the arena where the intermediate lesson riders are working on shoulder-ins, much to the consternation of their horses. "Those ponies are out again!"  


Indeed, three Welsh ponies are nibbling at the grass under the fence. They are outside the paddock, which means that the shortest one (Houdini) has opened the gate again with his teeth. Trailer is watching them warily from the shadow of the tractor shed, as if he'll be needed at a moment's notice to herd them back into their field again.  


"Cripes!" Claudia says, fumbling with the bucket she's holding, checking in her pockets for spare treats.  


Sensing his freedom is in danger, Houdini snorts and gallops off towards the other side of the yard. Toy and Ota follow him at a more controlled canter (Artie still rages at the names of the two driving ponies owned by a Prius-driving boarder). Shaking her head, Myka grabs a leadrope and follows.  


She doesn't see Helena watching her.  


\------------  


June turns into July, bringing scorching weather and thunderstorms in the evenings. The grass practically sighs with satisfaction and responds by growing at an exponential rate, much to the relief of Artie, who was dreading ordering in truckloads of hay from the coast and had spent most of May and June scowling up at the cloudless skies  


Myka and Helena are cleaning tack in the shade of tall beech beside the barn - the tack room is too stuffy in this heat and the breeze is just enough to keep them bearably cool. Lessons are postponed for the afternoon - it's not safe to ride in the humidity with the sun high in the sky, and there is another storm alert up for the county.  


(They've developed a routine - Helena shows up every morning on weekdays at 6:30 am to ride and leaves for work two hours later. She also drops by in the afternoon most days. Myka finds herself arriving a little earlier for her shifts to ease up her chores and allow a few breaks to chat with Helena, who is engaging, and clever, and a wonderful rider and she can't really ignore the warmth that blooms in her chest whenever she sees Helena's car parked in the small dirt lot beside the barn.)  


"There was a fire."  


Helena's finished with her saddle and is now winding the stirrup leather tightly around her hand to make a coil. "I was showing in France at the time. We tried to get all the horses out, but were only able to save fourteen out of the thirty. All the British horses were killed."  


"This was -," Myka thinks for a second, because she was still in high school when she heard about it and the fire had killed some of the top horses in the dressage world at the time and it had been under suspicious circumstances, "- eight years ago? At the Grand Prix in Saumur?"  


"Yes." Helena says, hanging the leather up and picking its partner off the grass. "I lost two horses; my regular mount and the mare I had been training as his replacement. The mare was..." Helena pauses for a moment, staring at Myka, or more accurately, through her "...absolutely perfect. Wonderful movement, soft in the hand, and had the heart to win anything."  


"What was her name?"  


"Christina." Helena smiles fondly, and it's a real smile, with her dark eyes shining with the memory of this horse. "By Contango. Not as big as her sire, but such similar movement that I fell in love as soon as I set eyes on her. I knew we were destined for great things together."  


Helena's gaze flickers down to her lap, where the rag and saddle soap are resting.  


"But I had her for only three years. I think, just as there's always one person you're destined to fall in love with, there's one horse who will be the 'one'. And mine was taken away from me far too soon."  


"That's when you stopped competing?"  


"Yes. I had lost both of my mounts and I didn't even want to look at a horse ever again. I applied to an engineering firm the following week in the United States and moved as soon as they accepted me."  


Myka looked over at Grappler, who was grazing nearby in the pony field. He's terribly gentle with the ponies, who are grazing in a cluster around him, and his relocation has stopped all escape attempts for reasons that have yet to be understood.  


"Was Grappler the first horse you were on after?"  


"He was. I was driving to a job when I saw him in the field surrounded by broken farm equipment and a rundown shed, wild and uncontrollable. It was like looking in a mirror, if you can believe. I bought him from his owners that afternoon, backed him over a summer with the intention of it just being a one-off sort of fling back to my former days as a rider. I realized at the end of the three months that I didn't want to sell him - I felt that he could do more. It was a healing process for me, after a fashion."  


She smiles her quicksilver smile and gazes warmly up at Myka. "And here I am, boring you with my maudlin tales. Aren't you sorry you asked, Miss Bering?"  


Myka ducks her head.  


\-----  


Another month has passed. It's early August, and pony campers have gone home for the day. There was a freak shower of rain several hours ago and now small puddles cover the property. The pony field looks like it has been taken over by four-legged mud monsters because all the ponies have rolled and are now covered in a thick layer of soil.  


To add an element of fun to this week's camper's lessons, Claudia has set up an obstacle course in the ring. There is a sign: "Try yee who dare", with a list of best times. A spoon and a plastic egg are balanced on top of the fence post beside it as a tantalizing invitation.  


Myka surveys the ring, spotting the gate (open and close), a pair of construction pylons (take the tennis ball from one, move it to the other without getting off your mount), a double line of trot poles arranged in a zig-zag (reverse through), and a tarp, which must be stepped over.  


"Well, darling, are you up for a challenge."  


Helena is grinning devilishly from the 14.3 hh horse she suspiciously decided to use on this particular day. Pete's away with some Marine buddies on a fishing trip and won't be back for a week, so he begged Myka to get Semper some exercise. Myka, who has longer arms, but is on a 17.1 hh Trakhener who is deathly afraid of plastic tarps, has doubts about the wisdom of her own choice of mount.  


She's probably going to fall off. Or embarrass herself in another way.  


(In front of Helena.)  


Myka sighs.  


"After you, Helena."  


She earns herself a grin. “I thought you'd never ask, darling.”  


Myka's life-long insistence on wearing a helmet is justified not ten minutes later. It is later relayed to her by Helena that the fall is spectacular, and Shakespeare's buck - precipitated by an unexpected pigeon hiding under the tarp - puts him in good standing for the local rodeo if he ever needs a second job.  


"Mmphff."  


Myka begins to rise from the dirt, then groans as the pain starts to set in to her back. A hand on Myka's arm stays her from a second attempt at standing.  


"Oh no, my dear, please stay where you are."  


The wind was knocked out of her lungs when she landed on her back, and it's a long minute before Myka's able to get out her first question. The fall was like all others - a sped-up clip of flash images with a buck and the sensation of dropping through space for a long time with a very abrupt landing. Disappearing hoofbeats had punctuated it.  


"How's Shakespeare?" she asks faintly.  


"Remarkably athletic. He jumped the ring fence with room to spare and trotted back to the yard. Claudia's just caught him."  


Helena has crouched down beside her, pristine breeches dangerously close to the wet sand of the arena. Semper's standing nearby, happily groundtied.  


“And the pigeon?”  


"Hang the pigeon. I'm much more concerned about you, Myka."  


"Your clothes will get dirty," is the next thing that springs into Myka's mind and exits her mouth.  


Helena's beautiful face instantly adopts an expression of profound concern.  


"Myka, are you feeling alright?" Helena's hand rises to cup Myka's chin so she can get a better look at her eyes."Do you know what day it is?"  


"No...I'm fine, I mean. It's just that you're always so clean and you're in the sand, and it's just rained and...and how about I just stop talking until my brain reboots?"  


Myka pushes herself slowly to her feet and stretches out her arms. Helena watches her closely, eyebrows still knit together.  


“You're one to talk, Myka, with your body covered in half the arena. Let's go get you cleaned up - I think I have a towel in my tack locker."  


They make their way back to the barn, Myka wincing as her leg pulls with each step. Beyond a few scrapes from the sand - including a small cut on her chin that Helena insists on opening the first aid kit to disinfect - Myka's just bruised. She then ignores Helena's protestations that 'perhaps it would be better to rest for today', and climbs back up on a very snorty Shakespeare.  


They go on a ride around the Frederick's neighboring fields, Helena never looking away from the back of Myka's head.  


\---  


Pete finally says out loud what has been worrying at Myka for the last two months.  


He's driving the tractor back from grading the small dressage area in the corner of the property and is giving Myka a lift back from where she had been returning horses to the field.  


"So, how is Miss Downton Abbey?"  


Myka rolls her eyes.  


They pass the south fields. Semper has a large horse ball in the smaller of the gelding fields. He's chasing it around in circles, pushing the purple ball with his chest and trotting after it, shaking his head in excitement. The other horses are grazing, used to these antics by now. Next to the field is the arena where Artie is berating Claudia in her private lesson. ("Why am I seeing daylight between your knees, Claudia? You're gripping with your ankles again!")  


"Helena is fine, Pete. I'm glad you've stopped trying to impress her."  


Pete huffs through his teeth, his version of a laugh. "Well, I know when I'm beat, and I have a sneaking feeling that she's not my type."  


"What?" she laughs, "Intelligent and civilized?"  


"- Very, very gay." Pete finishes, squinting into the afternoon sun as he turns towards the tractor shed. He shrugs. "Heck, I'm the manliest guy you'll ever meet, but I can't quite meet her expectations about the double X-chromosome required in a life-partner."  


Myka bursts out with a laugh that sounds just a smidgen too curious to be convincing. "Wherever did you get the impression that Helena was gay? Just because she flatly turned down your advances doesn't mean that she's not attracted to men."  


"Well, it could be some mysterious sixth sense, or it could be the come-hither, sex-me-now gazes she levels at you every other minute. Seriously, Myka, you have the self-control of a saint because it is very clear that she wants into your breeches."  


"You are being absolutely ridiculous," she snorts, slapping his arm. "And you've obviously been watching too many teen romance movies."  


Pete swings the wheel to end his three point turn and backs into the covered shed.  


"Myka, Claudia and I have a bet going about the length of time it'll take before you and Helena actually address the sexual tension that's been building between you two since she arrived." Pete cuts the tractor engine off and turns to her as it chugs down into silence. "In all honesty, it's kind of scary because it's just so obvious how attracted you guys are to each other and yet are pretending that you aren't. Even Artie's giving it a serious side-eye - and I didn't even think he noticed basic human qualities like attraction given how clueless he is at asking out Dr. Vanessa."  


Pete hops off the tractor and pockets the keys in his hand, tipping his hat to Myka as he passes her.  


" Now, if you'll excuse me - I have a date to get to in town with a very lovely vet."  


"You're going to pick up antibiotics, Pete."  


"Semper's my wingman, what can I say? And Mykes - you need to talk to her."  


\-----  


Myka doesn't talk to Helena about any feelings she might be experiencing.  


She suppresses it, tries to pretend like Pete and her never had the conversation, and goes about her days at the stable pining after Helena, who can't possibly be attracted to her, because Helena is perfect and a brilliant rider and shockingly clever. Myka hasn't a hope.  


And besides, she's not gay.  


(Right?)  


In mid-August, her father calls again. His assistant trainer has broken her leg in a car accident, and he needs Myka to fill in until he can get a replacement - they have fifteen horses in training and he can't give them all regular work without help. She says she can take a week off at most, tells Artie and gets a grudging permission to hand her duties over to Claudia temporarily.  


Her time at her father's stable is predictably terrible, and she drives back a day earlier than planned. She can only bear so much of her father's relentless scorn at her choices in life, at her wasting the opportunities that were given to her, of not continuing on into graduate studies.  


"You've wasted the last three years of your life doing nothing at a backwater stable. You could be teaching at Harvard and all you're doing is mucking out stalls in a minimum-wage job."  


There's still an hour of light left, so she tosses a saddle on Shakespeare and after a short warm up, heads off into the trails where she can finally release her frustration.  


Her eyes are tearing from the wind as she gallops down the dirt lane, trees blurring. The chestnut gelding senses her mood, and keeps going until they're both winded.  


\---  


Her mother phones the following evening, just as Myka is closing the barn down for the night. It's the usual apology for her father's behavior, and he's been under so much stress lately, and he really doesn't mean what he says, not really, Myka. He does love you in his own way, and he just has an odd way of showing it. They speak for five minutes before Myka mumbles an excuse about doing a last minute check on the stalls and hangs up.  


Helena finds her in the hay loft half an hour later. She will later explain that she had seen Myka's car in the lot, but not Myka, and had been concerned.  


"Oh, my darling,' Helena murmurs softly as she sits next to her on the bale. "You poor creature."  


A hand gently falls on Myka's back as the other rests on her arm. Too tired to put up even a token protest, Myka curls into Helena's smaller frame as the arms wrap around her.  


To her relief, Helena doesn't ask her any questions. She simply holds her as Myka calms down, smoothing her curly hair with a gentle touch. It's a pleasant feeling, being held, and petted, and the sound of sleeping horses below only completes the restful image.  


When Myka's sniffles have died away, Helena finally speaks.  


"I require your assistance in a small matter, Myka."  


Stretching back up, Myka pushes away the feeling of loss as she pulls away from Helena's embrace. It wouldn't do to stay so close.  


"With what?" Her voice is scratchy and swollen, and sounds just like she feels.  


"I am off to look at a horse next week and would appreciate having a second set of eyes along. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?"  


It's impossible for Myka to ignore the leap of sheer happiness in her chest - it's been too consistent these past few months and it doesn't take much brain power to deduce the source of the feeling because Pete and Claudia are right about how she feels towards this beautiful woman beside her. Myka wipes her eyes with her wrist (because her hands are dirty, and her forearm is cleaner) and nods.  


"I would like that. I have Tuesday and Wednesday off next week, but I could always switch with Claudia if it needed to be another day."  


"Ah, wonderful - I'll call to confirm the appointment when I get home," Helena says. "We may need to make a night of it - Lanscaster Farms is a fair distance away."  


Myka's eyebrows rise. Lanscaster is renowned for two things - the horses that are bred there, and the fantastical cost associated with purchasing them. There are three studs that are kept there - all Olympic medalists - and the two-year-olds start at 40,000 and rise up sharply as they age.  


Helena is holding a handkerchief out to her.  


"Your father doesn't deserve you, Myka. You are worth so much more than his expectations."  



End file.
